Could he allow himself to hope again?
Eleven
“April!” May’s voice burst through the hush of the library, followed by the eager patter of her slippers across the rug.
April looked up from the book—Meditations on the Nature of Honor—she had been pretending to read, her mind having drifted long ago to thoughts of dark blue eyes and the man who watched the world as if he held it at bay with his very will.
May grinned mischievously, a slim package in her hands. “I saw the butler receiving this at the door and offered—very helpfully—to bring it to you.”
April arched a brow, setting her book aside. “Offered or insisted?”
May only laughed and thrust the parcel toward her.
Curious, April untied the simple twine and peeled back the brown paper to reveal a familiar binding.The Faerie Queene.
Nestled inside the front cover was a single folded sheet, unsigned, written in a strong, precise hand.
You asked if I admired poetry. I do—but not Byron’s drama nor Wordsworth’s wanderings. I prefer what speaks plainly of loyalty, of trial, of quiet sorrow. I thought you might read it and understand.
No name. No crest. But there was no doubt that it was from Stone.
May leaned over her shoulder like an eager sparrow. “What is it?”
April tucked the note between the pages before her sister could snatch it. “Something… romantic,” she said lightly, feeling a strange tightness in her chest.
May squealed. “Is he wooing you with poetry? Oh, April, this is too perfect!”
Ignoring her, April flipped through the book. Several passages had been discreetly marked with black silk ribbons. She found the first, and every line he wanted her to read had a star drawn beside it with a pencil. She read quietly.
Virtue gives herself light, through darkness for to wade.
She traced the words with her fingertip.Through darkness for to wade.Had he thought of himself or of her when he marked it?
Another passage waited:The mind of each to other’s mind did suit.
Her heart gave an uneven flutter. May plopped down onto the chair beside her, swinging her feet. “Well? Does it make you want to say yes to him?”
April closed the book gently, holding it to her chest for a moment. “It makes me want to know him better.”
“Which is very nearly the same thing.” May grinned wickedly.
April laughed and shook her head though her heart raced beneath her ribs. Somehow, without a single word spoken between them, he had shown her a glimpse of his soul.
April reopened the book, and her thumb found the last passage he had marked:Who having spent the day, his steeds doth loose, forgetting travail past, and former toil.
She read it twice, and then again, the words sinking deep. Perhaps… he was telling her something she had not yet dared hope to believe. She pressed her hand over the page and closed her eyes briefly.
The seeds of something fragile and frightening had been sown—and whether it would bloom or break, she could no longer tell.
April set the volume aside, rose, and crossed to the escritoire by the window. She seated herself and drew a sheet of parchment.
Your Grace,
Your gift of The?Faerie?Queene arrived this morning, and I value both the volume and the kindness that sent it.
Lady?Allenham holds a ball this Thursday. I shall attend and would be pleased if you would join me.
Yours,
